Patron Saint of all tastes and age groups
Fife restaurant caters in style for every dining demographic
Aweekend in St Andrews is always a treat. In the hotel hot tub, I chatted about my favourite subject – lunch. Sadly for everyone sharing the tepid chlorine with me, this led into why so many Scottish tourist towns have terrible restaurants.
They had to listen so you can too – it’s because they don’t have to rely on repeat business. When there’s a constant turnover of new customers, you can cut corners and rely on the deep freeze.
If it’s a bit rubbish then you haven’t lost a potential regular because they’re off home and there will be a new walk-in along tomorrow.
Now St Andrews, I shouted above the whoosh of the bubbling jets, is different. It has a busy visitor economy on top of a constant population of well-off students who have generous relatives who come to stay. Plus, many of the golfers who play on the town’s historic courses come back every year.
Give any of them a sub-standard burger and next time, they’ll eat somewhere else.
All of this means that the Fife town has a food and drink culture that would be the envy of places three times its size.
Case in point is the Adamson on South Street, where I joined every demographic I’d been holding forth about for Sunday lunch. There were Asian students in architectural outfits. A young man sat opposite his granny, trying to chat while folding roast beef into his mouth. A PhD student complained to her auntie that her parents didn’t understand what she was studying.
It’s easy to see why they chose the Adamson, which is upmarket without being up itself. There are easy favourites – steaks, fish and chips – on the menu, interesting vegan options and a Sunday roast for the young people pining for home cooking.
But there are also some more ambitious dishes such as Carb
Boy’s scallops with pancetta, red sorel and raspberries. I’ve never seen soft fruit paired with seafood and, while it looked very bonnie on the plate, I’m not sure the berries added much to the heavily-browned scallop.
I preferred the stone cold classic oysters, fat and briny, served with shallots in red wine vinegar. After a post-spa march along the West Sands, this felt a bit like eating the sea.
The roast lunch was tempting but venison with wintry veg and mash was a more elevated take on meat and potatoes. It was an inspired choice. The two fat ovals of exquisite pink rump did not require the sharp knife provided.
They came with several of my favourite vegetables. Grated beetroot had been cooked with something tart and fruity to soften its soil-like sweetness. What a great idea. Jerusalem artichoke was pureed in blobs while thin slivers of sweet potato were fried into exquisite crisps.
There were a few home-made potato crisps too, a token floret of broccoli and a couple of Walnut Whip-shaped cones of sinfully rich mash. An excellent choice.
Carb Boy was equally delighted with his parmesan chicken on a nest of mushroomy tagliatelle.
“Look,” he said approvingly, thrusting the dish in my face. “It’s basically a big bit of crunchy chicken on top of garlicky pasta.”
I could not disagree. The chicken’s skin was transformed into delicious edible sandpaper, thanks to the generous hand with the cheese. The slurpy pasta I let him finish by himself.
His sticky toffee pudding was super fancy. The pud was baked in a crenellated tin so it was shaped more like a jelly than a wodge of caramel-absorbing cake. The malt ice cream on the top was a clever touch and a crunchy smattering of candied pecans gave it a real lift.
I thought a dark chocolate and espresso delice sounded as mean and black as my heart, just the thing to keep me alert for the drive back to Glasgow. It was milder and gentler than I expected but the chunks of honeycomb made it a very enjoyable Crunchie flashback.
Just as well because leaving St Andrews needs all the sweetening it can get.